


short & sweet emgk stories

by shylemon



Category: Eminem (Musician)
Genre: Biting, Butt Plugs, Choking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Lovers, Established Relationship, Height Differences, Hugs, Implied Sexual Content, Insecurity, Loneliness, Love Confessions, M/M, Men Crying, Morning Sex, Nipple Play, Nude Photos, Possible PTSD?, Teasing, Toxic Masculinity, bad memories, bottom!Em
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:07:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23841241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shylemon/pseuds/shylemon
Summary: A collection of short emgk stories, because I don't have the attention span to write anything long.
Relationships: Colson Baker | Machine Gun Kelly/Eminem
Comments: 40
Kudos: 129





	1. when i'm gone

**Author's Note:**

> Marshall has to go on a trip for work and Colson doesn't cope very well with loneliness.

The nights were the hardest. Colson often found himself laying in bed, feeling far too lonely, and trying not to reach for his phone to call Marshall for the twelfth time in a day. This night was particularly difficult. He’d barely gotten a chance to sit down over the past sixteen hours, and now he was collapsing into bed, alone, wanting nothing more than to cuddle with his partner. The room felt dark and big around him, and he curled up under the blanket, dragging a palm across the empty side of the bed. It was cool to the touch, and Marshall was always warm. Colson remembered complaining about that, about how, in the summer, he’d wake up soaked in sweat because the other man was a goddamn heater. In truth, he hadn’t really minded that much. He just liked to be a brat because it was funny watching his partner sigh and grumble and be annoyed. Usually the memory of Marshall being angry would make Colson feel amused, but now it was making his throat close up. He groaned and flipped onto his back, feeling pathetic. Fucking shut up and go to sleep, he told his brain. He’s not coming back yet. The last thought was a mistake. Colson felt his chest get tight as it kept bouncing around in his mind: He’s not coming back. He knew he had some deep rooted abandonment issues after his mother had left him. Maybe that’s why Marshall leaving was always so difficult. There was no telling if the other man was gone forever. Colson could feel his eyes getting wet and he rubbed at them harshly, looking around the room for any sort of comfort. The older man’s pillow was next to him, and he quickly grabbed it, too sad to feel embarrassed as he held it to his chest. It smelled like Marshall, and Colson cursed himself as a few tears escaped and dripped down the side of his face. The pillow only helped a little. Colson closed his eyes and breathed in, trying to remember how Marshall felt in his arms. His boyfriend had pretended to hate being the little spoon, but Colson knew he liked it. Colson himself loved it, loved feeling the older man’s soft hair underneath his chin, waking up in the middle of the night with a warm body next to him, reminding him he wasn’t alone. It hurt so much when Marshall was gone, it was like a physical pain. He blindly reached out and grabbed his phone, eyes blurry with tears. He found Marshall’s name in his contacts and pressed the facetime icon. It seemed like it took ages for the other man to answer, and by the time he did Colson felt like an idiot for even calling.

“Hey!” Marshall said brightly, his face barely in frame (the man did not know how to use a phone). “I was just about to call-” He paused, taking in the wetness on the blonde’s cheeks. “Baby? Have you been crying?” Colson buried his face in the pillow, cheeks heating up in embarrassment. “Tell me what’s wrong, sweetheart,” Marshall’s voice had gone soft with concern and it eased Colson’s anxieties a little.

“It’s stupid, I just...I miss you,” He admitted, trying to discreetly get rid of the tears on his face. “I was just laying here thinking...thinking about how you might not come back. It’s fucking dumb like...I know you’re coming back, but…” He trailed off, trying not to sniffle. Through the screen, Marshall’s expression changed to one of understanding.

“Baby, my goal whenever I leave is always to get back to you, you should know that by now.” Colson bit his lip, fighting the urge to start crying again. Somehow, the older man’s sentiment made it worse. He felt guilty about making Marshall worry, about making him think about anything except his work. He hid himself behind the pillow again, a sob building up in his throat. “I don’t...I don’t want you to worry about me,” Colson mumbled, trying to sound as normal as possible. “Don’t want to be a distraction.”

  
“But you’re the best distraction,” Marshall insisted. “And I’m always gonna worry about you, because I love you.” There was a short silence, and Colson tried to make his breathing quieter, tried to control the small, hiccupy sounds he was making. “You know it’s okay to cry in front of me, right?” Marshall asked gently.

  
“N-not crying,” Colson stuttered into the fabric of the pillow. “Allergies.” 

  
“Colson, look at me.” The blonde breathed out slowly, reluctantly tilting his face up until it was entirely in view of the phone’s camera. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. Understand me?” Colson nodded, feeling a twinge of embarrassment anyway at how red and wet his cheeks were. “It’s alright to miss me, to want to know if I’m coming back. Call me every night from now on, okay?”

  
“But-” Colson protested weakly, and Marshall cut him off.

  
“No but’s. I want you to be happy, not feeling all lonely and weepy over there.”

  
“Okay,” Colson agreed, finally starting to feel a bit more relaxed. “Can you...tell me about your day or something? Just until I fall asleep?” The request felt stupid coming out of his mouth, but Marshall smiled at him and nodded.

  
“Yeah, let me see...well today I went to this cafe for breakfast. It was disgustingly cute, you would like it. I ordered a coffee, went back to the hotel…” Colson listened as Marshall rambled on, the tension easing out of his shoulders. Maybe everything would be okay.


	2. love you more

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A concept: Marshall loves the height difference between him and Colson

Marshall notices it when they first meet in person, of course. How can he not, when he has to literally tilt his head to see the other man’s face? It annoys him, almost immediately, in the same way that the bright blue eyes annoy him, and the pink mouth, and the light accent of the words that come out of that mouth. Annoyance. That’s definitely the only thing he feels. Luckily whatever he’s feeling gets pushed aside when they actually start having a conversation (more of an argument) and he has to start coming up with comebacks to the younger rapper’s not-so-subtle jabs. He finds he can continue to not feel anything, especially when they start to go back and forth over text, over the phone even, and then in person again, when they meet a second time and the harsh words turn into something heavy between them, a kind of thickening of the air. And then, there it is. The height difference. Blatantly obvious yet again, because his neck is burning when it’s being forced back by Colson’s hand in his hair, and he’s standing up on his toes (almost) just to reach the mouth that’s suddenly far too close. This time it absolutely infuriates him. There’s no other word for the feeling in his stomach, he’s sure, besides infuriation.

Annoyingly enough, the feeling keeps coming back. He can avoid it a bit, if he tries. If they fuck doggystyle, or if Colson sits on the edge of the bed while they kiss, or if he can make Colson get on his knees, which happens a few times. But then they end up in missionary position, because he wants to see the brat’s face, and he realizes he can’t quite reach the other’s lips with his own. And maybe that makes him blush, and maybe it doesn’t. Who knows. Marshall pretends not to know. He pretends that it doesn’t affect him, when the other man is on top for once, and he’s staring at a collarbone and shitty tattoos, instead of a face. He pretends it doesn’t make him shudder, just a little, when Colson backs him against the wall and leans over him, and he can smell the other’s cologne far too clearly. Marshall thinks maybe, when this is over, when they stop fucking and go back to being enemies, he can forget about the fact that possibly (just possibly!) he likes tall men.

Except it doesn’t end.

Their “relationship” (Marshall only calls it that in his own head, when no one’s around) continues in a wavering, uncertain way. It’s volatile at times, and surprisingly sweet at others. There’s Marshall’s bitterness between them, the chip on his shoulder. There’s Colson’s hotheadedness too, and his mood swings. The older man starts to lose count of the number of moments he’s been breathless, anger slipping into something else when Colson gets up in his face-or rather, his goddamn collarbones do-and Marshall has to take a step back so he can feel level again. He finds it strange that the height, of all things, affects him. Colson isn’t big, he isn’t intimidating. He has a bit of muscle, sure, but he’s an awkward, lanky thing for the most part. But for some reason the fact that the top of his head barely comes up past Colson’s chin makes him horny. Or something.

Marshall isn’t sure if horny is exactly the right word. Usually he’s good with words, but they flee from him in the soft, watered down moments. Like when Colson makes him breakfast, and Marshall comes downstairs to the smell of girly shampoo and pancakes and catches the younger man in a pink apron. Colson comes over and hugs him, tucks Marshall safely under his (boney) chin, and, as if on cue, Marshall’s stomach starts doing those loops again. Except they aren’t heated, fire-y loops, like they sometimes are. They’re just warm, and calm, and Marshall isn’t used to these kinds of gentle feelings. So he teases the blond about his apron, shoves him in the arm a bit, and bites into the pancakes, mumbling what he hopes is a sincere “thank you.” Colson just smiles, like he understands him. And if that doesn’t fuck Marshall up.

And then….and then, and then….Marshall loses track of time. And suddenly it’s been months, a year. And Colson is still there, in his kitchen. On his couch. In his bed. He still smells good, under the too-strong cologne. He’s still lanky and awkward. His height still makes Marshall feel fire-y and gooey at the same time, when he notices it. And then one day, he’s about to leave, about to drive up to the studio or somewhere insignificant (anywhere but the studio is insignificant to be honest), and Colson comes downstairs to hug him goodbye. It should be a normal hug, should be quick and sweet and forgotten at the door. But instead Colson does that thing, that thing where he nearly crushes Marshall in his skinny arms and forces the older man’s face into his neck as he sets his chin firmly on top of Marshall’s short hair. And Marshall’s chest actually hurts. No fire-y feeling, no warm loop-the-loops in his stomach. It’s like a pain, an ache-y one, branching out into his arms. _I think I’m having a heart attack,_ he tells Colson. _My chest is aching._ It sounds stupid, as soon as it comes out of his mouth. Colson looks down at him, scrunches his (bright blue) eyes up, and smiles, like he gets it. Like he understands.

_I love you too,_ he says, and it’s the first time Marshall’s really felt those words in years.


	3. heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok so this is just some self-indulgent p0rn. It features bottom Em, so if you're not into that then...I guess don't read? Basically, Colson and Marshall have morning sex and Marshall is a cutie.

Morning arrived, and Marshall resented it. Weak blue-grey light was filtering into the room, and he felt too warm to get up. A tattooed arm was wrapped around his waist, proof that Colson had gotten his way last night and he’d ended up as the little spoon. The brunet shifted a bit, half turning over to look resentfully at his boyfriend’s sleeping face. Colson always looked good, even with messed up hair, and he never had morning breath, which Marshall didn’t understand. 

“Too pretty,” Marshall grumbled, and turned over, ready to start the slow, joint-creaking process of getting out of bed. He moved maybe half an inch before the hand on his torso slid down to grip his hip tightly. Long fingers dug in and pulled him back and...oh. A blush rose in his cheeks at the feeling of Colson’s obviously hard dick now pressing against his ass.

“Col-what-” His voice felt rough in his throat.

“Shut up,” The blond behind him breathed, sounding only half awake. “Just let me-” And then he was dragging skinny hips against Marshall’s back, his dick almost fitting itself into the crack of the older man’s ass with every movement. Arousal crept up Marshall’s legs slowly. It was a quiet, burning feeling, and he shuddered, gripping Colson’s wrist. 

“D-do you always have to be this horny?” Marshall’s voice stuttered on Colson’s next thrust, not able to stop his hips from pressing back against the friction. 

“Like you aren’t?” The hand on his hip slid down to grip him through his loose boxers, and Marshall could feel himself heating up in embarrassment at how hard he already was. He could feel the other man smirk against his neck before biting down, digging his teeth into the skin just above his collarbone.

“F-fuck, not fair,” Marshall gasped. Colson knew he had a thing for biting. The sharp pain from the blond’s teeth translated quickly into a sharp jab of arousal in his stomach. He moved his hips back again, a bit more noticeably this time, wishing they could hurry up and remove the layers between them. But Colson, surprisingly, didn’t seem to be in a hurry. Usually Marshall had to struggle to keep up with him, but now it was almost like the kid was teasing him. Fingertips lightly stroked up and down Marshall’s dick, barely moving the fabric laying over it, and he bit into his lip to keep from moaning. It wasn’t nearly enough stimulation for how aroused he suddenly was, and neither was the dick moving behind him, dragging over his covered hole. Colson pressed a few kisses into the back of his neck, and Marshall could almost feel eyes on him, watching him sweat, watching his hips rock back and forth subtly between Colson’s hand and dick. “Can we just-” Marshall reached back to pull on the waistband of the blond’s sweats. Colson swatted his hand away.

“Not yet. I’m being patient. Like you always tell me to be, remember?” Marshall would’ve rolled his eyes if he wasn’t unbearably turned on. Colson had to be the most annoying person he’d ever slept with. He opened his mouth to retaliate but suddenly the hand on his dick left and fingers were being pressed into his tongue. He made a confused sound, dick already throbbing from lack of attention, but then the fingers pressed deeper into his mouth and he got lightheaded. Colson was matching the thrusts of his hips with the movement of his fingers, sliding them in and out of Marshall’s mouth slowly. It should’ve been degrading (actually, it was) but Marshall felt his stomach twist regardless, and he couldn’t help the sound he made around the fingers. Colson smirked against his neck, and then he was leaning back and away slightly, rummaging around behind them with his free hand. Marshall made a noise of protest, tried to grab the top of Colson’s sweats again, but then the blond was back and easing Marshall’s boxers down his hips. Finally. He heard the sound of a plastic bottle being opened, and then the fingers left his mouth and were sliding against his hole. The lube was cold, but at least Colson was actually touching him. Frustratingly, it didn’t go beyond touching. One finger rubbed circles against his hole, not even going in. Marshall moaned, pressing back against the digit even as he opened his mouth to complain. 

“Fucking tease.” 

“Seems like you’re enjoying it,” Colson said, sounding far too unaffected. Marshall dug his fingers into the pillowcase, trying to control his breathing. His dick was aching at this point, leaking a wet spot onto the sheets. He nearly whimpered when Colson finally pushed two fingers inside and started moving them. He was still half open from last night’s activities, and so Colson should’ve barely had to stretch him at all. But of course, he took his sweet time, and when the blond decided he was finished Marshall was cursing and moaning with nearly every breath. His strong feeling of hatred for his boyfriend only grew when Colson pressed his dick right up against his hole and didn’t move, opting to slide a hand up his shirt and bite into his neck again instead. Marshall almost came from that alone, he was so pent up.

“F-fuck, can you-please-” The last word trailed off into a whine, and, great, now he was begging. 

“Please what?” Colson asked, voice light and teasing. Marshall bit his lip and threw his head back against Colson’s collarbone, which was a mistake, because the blond took it as an invitation to grab his throat. 

“Just-please fuck me,” Marshall gasped, past the point of caring how desperate he probably sounded. Colson let out a breath he’d evidently been holding before pushing in. They both groaned as he bottomed out, and Colson’s grip on Marshall’s throat tightened slightly. The older man didn’t have nearly as big of a choking kink as Colson did, but damn. He couldn’t stop the full on whimper that left his mouth when Colson dug his nails in. 

“Fuck-” Colson gasped, setting a hard rhythm of thrusts. He seemed to have finally lost the illusion of self control he’d kept for so long, a stream of moans and unintelligible words leaving his mouth. He let go of Marshall’s neck, gripping the older man’s waist to flip him onto his stomach. The new angle had him hitting Marshall’s prostate with nearly every thrust, and Marshall quickly buried his face into the sheets to muffle his noises. It felt like Colson was reaching the deepest parts of him, the fingers on his thighs, his ass, burning straight through his skin and into his soul. Colson was saying something, some kind of protest, and then Marshall’s hair was being pulled, his face yanked up from the pillow. “Wanna hear you,” Colson was saying, and Marshall let him. He wasn’t really this vocal with anyone, wasn’t much of a talker, even in bed. But something about Colson made Marshall want to trust him, as scary as that was. He felt tears pricking the corners of his eyes as he got closer to orgasm, his legs trembling as a kind of warning to the blond behind him. Colson’s hand wrapped around his dick, fingers sliding over the leaking head, and he didn’t even have to stroke once for Marshall to come, hips weakly moving into his boyfriend’s hand. He didn’t really register Colson’s orgasm, or Colson pulling out of him. The next thing he felt was Colson’s lips on his face, kissing the wet skin of his cheeks. Fuck, when had he been crying? 

“It’s okay,” Colson said softly into his ear, and Marshall hummed in response, pulling the warm body against his own. He could be embarrassed about what had just happened later, but for now he wanted to sleep again, in the arms of the person he loved.


	4. desperation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Colson tries to take nudes of Marshall and then sex ensues. There's not much plot to this, but there is power bottom Colson. Has that been done before? I don't know.

It had started when they realized Marshall couldn’t take good nudes to save his life. Not that he hadn’t tried. He’d thought the photos he’d sent to Colson were pretty good, but after two minutes of puzzling over them Colson had sent a text saying: is that ur elbow? and Marshall had had to text back saying: no, that’s my dick. After that he never wanted to send nudes again, understandably. But Colson still wanted suggestive pictures of him, and so they came to a compromise: Colson would take Marshall’s nudes himself. And then just keep them...for his own personal use. And that’s how they’d ended up here, with Marshall sitting awkwardly on Colson’s bed, and Colson standing over him with his phone camera on. 

“Okay, first pic I’m thinking you just pull your shirt up.”

“Like this?” Marshall asked doubtfully, pulling up his t-shirt just above his belly button. He looked down at his stomach, which wasn’t nearly as flat as it had once been. “I don’t think my belly fat is going to get you off…” 

“Shut up, it’s adorable,” Colson said. “But I was thinking a bit higher, like…” he stepped forward and pulled his boyfriend’s shirt up for him, until it was just under his collarbones. “There. Hold it.” 

“Fine,” Marshall said, face heating up. He didn’t know why he felt exposed right now. He’d taken his shirt off in front of crowds of fans before, why was this any different? The phone camera clicked a few times until Colson seemed satisfied. He reached over and flicked the older man’s nipple. 

“Hey! No touching the model,” Marshall quipped, and Colson just laughed. Any awkwardness seemed to leave the room then and they went through a few more mildly suggestive poses, both of them getting goofy and trying to find the most ridiculous angles. “Okay,” Marshall said after fifteen minutes. “Let’s take a few of my ass like you wanted and then we’ll be done.” He pulled down his sweats to reveal tight-fitting boxers. Despite all the joking he did actually want Colson to enjoy these pictures. He watched his boyfriend bite his lip as he turned around and positioned himself seductively on the bed, ass up. To his surprise, Colson hesitated before taking a photo. “What is it?” Marshall asked after the camera finally clicked a few times. “Something’s on your mind, I can tell.” The blonde breathed out slowly, suddenly looking shy. 

“Well...I kind of wanted to go a bit farther with this.” 

“Farther? Like...dick pics?” 

“Yeah and...some other stuff.” Now it was Marshall’s turn to be shy. On one hand he felt embarrassment at the idea of being photographed that way, but he also couldn’t ignore the warm twinge in his gut at the idea. “I mean, obviously we don’t have to,” Colson said quickly, noticing his silence. “It’s just an idea. I’ll just put the phone away and we-” 

“No, I want to,” The speed of his response made him sound too eager, and Marshall regretted saying anything when Colson’s nervousness gave way to a knowing smirk. 

“You better get those off then,” he said, gesturing to the older man’s boxers. Marshall slowly obeyed, trying to act nonchalant as if he wasn’t already half hard. He settled himself back on the bed, sitting with his legs spread slightly in a way he hoped was hot. “Perfect,” Colson said, eyes roaming up and down. “Actually…” he stepped between Marshall’s legs, leaning down to connect their lips. Marshall made a small noise of surprise, but didn’t protest, enjoying the feeling of Colson’s hand stroking over his hair. The kiss deepened slowly, Colson pressing forward until Marshall’s head was completely tipped back. The slight strain on his neck reminded him of his boyfriend’s height, and another flood of warmth moved downwards in his stomach. He tried to pull back but Colson followed, biting lightly at his lower lip and ghosting fingers down his arms and chest. 

“What are you doing?” Marshall asked somewhat breathlessly when Colson finally pulled away.

“That,” Colson smirked, nodding down to where Marshall’s dick was now fully hard between his legs. The brunet didn’t even have time to come up with a response before the camera clicked again, probably capturing him looking all kinds of flustered. 

“You’re annoying, you know,” he huffed. 

“And you’re hot as fuck,” Colson retorted, licking his bottom lip in a way that shouldn’t have been sexy but was. “Wanna try something else?” Marshall nodded. Even though this wasn’t something he normally did, he was definitely still interested. Or at least his dick was. “Okay, so I’m thinking you could like...turn over. So I can really get a good pic of your ass.” Marshall nearly blushed at the words, cursing himself for being so easily affected today. He turned over on the bed, laying down on his stomach like he’d done before. 

“Like this?” 

“Um, no, more like…” he felt Colson’s hands on him, thin but surprisingly strong as they pulled his bottom half off the bed. “Like this.” 

“Oh.” Now he was definitely blushing. “I feel like a goddamn pornstar.” He wiggled his ass a bit, for effect. 

“Don’t pretend like I haven’t had you in this position before,” Colson said with too much confidence, the camera clicking away. Marshall swallowed, thinking about the few times he’d let Colson fuck him like this, and wondering if this was going to be another one of those times. This position made him feel vulnerable...something he both hated and loved simultaneously. “You okay?” Colson asked, and a hand stroked up his bare back. “I wanna finger you now.”

“I-yeah. I’m good.” He didn’t sound sure, even to himself. 

“We can stop, you know,” Colson sounded concerned, and the hand never left his back. “I know I kind of sprung this on you out of nowhere.”

“No, I...want this,” Marshall said, and the words felt right. “Just…” 

“Be careful?” Colson guessed, and Marshall made a sound in agreement. A small kiss was pressed to his hip and then he heard the familiar sound of a bottle opening, something he would normally do himself. A second later there were slick fingers sliding against his skin. He shuddered, maybe from the slight coldness of the lube, maybe from anticipation. Colson was slow and careful, like he’d said. One finger inside him turned into two, and Colson moved them gently, as though Marshall would break. On one thrust, a fingertip brushed Marshall’s prostate and he couldn’t help the small sound that escaped him. “Can I?” Colson asked, and Marshall nodded against the sheets. The camera sound was back, and Marshall bit his lip when he heard it. Somehow it made the whole thing hotter. The camera clicked a few more times as Colson sped up the pace of his fingers and Marshall couldn’t help but push back against them. Pretty soon he was practically fucking himself on the fingers, breath coming out in little pants. “Fuck,” Colson said under his breath, and Marshall could feel eyes on him as he moved. Then the digits inside him left, and Colson asked “ready?” 

“Ready for what?” He hoped it was Colson’s dick. He arched his back a bit more, expectant, and was mildly disappointed when something small and silicon was pushed into him instead. “Is that…” 

“A butt plug, yeah.” Colson said, and Marshall could tell he was amused. 

“It better not be the pink one. It’s the pink one, isn’t it?” Marshall grumbled, listening to Colson chuckle behind him. He was about to say something else, about the plug looking better in Colson’s ass than his, when the camera started going off again. The noise itself was starting to get a reaction out of him, and he felt his dick twitch where it was hanging between his legs. 

“Looks pretty in you,” Colson breathed behind him, twisting the plug around. Marshall hummed in response, moving unconsciously towards Colson’s touch. The plug moved too, slowly in and out, and Marshall clenched eagerly around it, mind going hazy. “Why don’t you do it?” 

“W-what?” Colson’s question had brought Marshall out of some kind of pleasant trance. 

“Use the toy on yourself,” Colson said, as if it were obvious. “I’ll take more pictures.” Marshall shifted on the bed, adjusting the position of his knees. He didn’t think he could kneel like this much longer.

“Fine, but I’m not doing it like this,” he rolled over onto his back, breath hitching when he felt the toy move inside him. Between his legs, his dick was red and leaking, and he ached to reach down and touch, to get himself off quickly. But that wasn’t what Colson wanted, so he reached for the plug instead. He started slow, short thrusts, because he wasn’t used to the sensation. The toy was small, but slightly elongated, and if he closed his eyes he could easily imagine he was being fucked by someone. He bit his lip as he continued, building a faster pace, a harder rhythm. Shame was curling in his belly somewhere, but arousal was dominating it, especially when Colson started taking pictures. Usually he hated being photographed. He never knew what expression to make, or how to stand, but he knew Colson would like each of these pictures, and that allowed him to enjoy this for once. He got lost in himself, toes curling as he worked the toy in and out, aching dick almost forgotten until he felt a hand on his upper thigh. 

“Hey,” Colson said. His voice sounded husky, a pink stain rising in his cheeks. “I think I’ve got enough pictures for now.” 

“Oh,” Marshall said awkwardly, taking his hand off the toy. He still didn’t know where this was going to lead. To sex? Or should he just get dressed and go on with his day? Now that the plug inside him no longer moved he just felt uncomfortably aroused. His question was answered for him when Colson surged forward and kissed him again, immediately open-mouthed and hungry, barely a kiss and more of a display of desperation. Marshall gasped against the side of Colson’s face as the blonde finally gripped his dick in one hand, teasing him with slow strokes. He bit back a frustrated sound, tilting his hips up into the warm touch. Colson slid his fingers up over the tip, laughing at Marshall’s audible whimper. “Didn’t know this would get you so worked up,” he grinned, blue eyes crinkling in amusement. Marshall’s head spun. All he could think of was getting Colson’s pants off. 

“Did too,” he hissed, grabbing blindly for Colson’s belt loop. He found it and pulled aggressively, moaning against the blonde’s neck as the hand on his dick picked up speed. His fingers met bare skin; he’d at least managed to get the pants halfway down Colson’s ass. “Come on-” he pulled uselessly at a leather belt loop again. Colson moved, and in a moment the hand on Marshall’s dick and the warm body over him was gone. The brunet made a noise of protest, pushing himself up on a shaky arm. Colson was standing at the edge of the bed, yanking his pants down his legs. He was already shirtless, of course (when wasn’t he?), and when he’d finished removing the last of his clothing he crawled back onto the bed and fixed Marshall with dark, almost starved eyes. Marshall quickly reached down to remove the plug. With a look like that, there was no way Colson wasn’t going to fuck him. 

“No,” Colson breathed, and suddenly he was in Marshall’s space, long fingers wrapping around his wrist. “No need to do that.” 

“But…” words failed him as Colson shoved him down against the sheets, long legs straddling him on either side. The older rapper’s dick twitched at the new position and he reached out to grab Colson’s waist. It would be so easy to just thrust inside him. Probably wouldn’t take more than a second. He had barely managed to brush against tattooed skin before his hands were being forcibly removed and pinned next to his head. A frustrated groan left him, pitching up at the end as the movement jostled the toy inside him. 

“Just let me do this, ok?” Colson was saying, and then one hand left his and slid down to firmly grasp his dick again. Marshall couldn’t do anything but gasp as Colson guided it back to brush against his hole. He thrusted his hips up in anticipation, an actual whine getting stuck in his throat when Colson held him down. 

“Fuck, please-” he barely got the words out before Colson fully seated himself on Marshall’s dick in one fluid motion. Marshall almost choked on his own spit, an unchecked moan leaving him. 

“You’re lucky I have such amazing intuition,” Colson said above him, his voice a little breathless. “I doubted you’d have the patience to open me up-” 

“Shut up, of course I-” the blonde cut him off with a sharp grin, pulling almost entirely off of the older man’s dick before slamming himself back down. The movement made the plug press up against Marshall’s prostate, and the brunet fisted the sheets desperately as a new wave of pleasure hit him. Colson didn’t stop though, just kept riding him with a single minded determination as Marshall fell apart. It was too much; the stimulation on his dick making it throb while his hole clenched around the toy in his ass. Everything felt hot and tight and Marshall felt his legs start to tremble. He was beyond stopping any noises he was making at this point, although he barely heard them over Colson’s gasps and rambling. It was mostly nonsense, things like “you like that?” and “you look so hot like this” mixed with swearing, but the blonde’s voice made Marshall’s stomach twist all the same. At some point Colson lost his grip on Marshall’s wrists, and Marshall immediately found his hands sliding up over thin hips and chest until they reached soft, curly hair. Colson leaned down and pressed kisses to his jaw, letting Marshall grip his hair tightly as he slowed down their movements. Soon they were barely moving, just slowly rocking back and forth against each other. Colson’s dick slid wetly over Marshall’s stomach, and that combined with the feeling of Colson’s mouth against his neck made him desperate. Moments before he had been quickly spiraling towards climax, but now he was being held on the edge, the plug still sending an electric sensation through him with every small push of Colson’s hips. “Colson....” His voice sounded raw, like it did after he’d been on stage. 

“Shh,” Colson shushed him, leaning back so he could see Marshall’s face. And then he brought his lips to Marshall’s. It was needy and uncoordinated, with Marshall grasping at the blonde’s back and moaning whenever he got any air. His dick twitched, and he could feel how close he was, the weight of arousal in his gut becoming unbearable. But the slow rock they were doing wasn’t going to push him over the edge, even with the kissing. Just when he thought he might go insane Colson’s hand crept up between them and brushed over one of his nipples. Marshall moaned in surprise, pulling away from Colson’s mouth to gasp for air. “Like this,” Colson said, rolling the nipple between his fingers. “Want you to come like this,” Marshall nodded helplessly, arching his back so he could press his chest up into Colson’s hands. He thrust desperately upwards in small, quick strokes, moaning uncontrollably into Colson’s shoulder. “Please?” Colson asked, the word a groan, barely formed. But Marshall heard it. 

“F-fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, ah-” Marshall’s dick and hole throbbed in time with each other as he finally came, hot pleasure uncoiling in his stomach and spreading down to his toes. His legs shook as the toy inside him pressed against his sweet spot unrelentingly, making his orgasm feel as though it lasted forever. Colson let go of his nipples and pulled him close, whimpering into his ear as his own orgasm came over him. Marshall felt it, wet and hot against his chest, and his dick twitched one last time at the feeling. They lay like that for minutes afterwards, breathing into each other’s hair. Marshall wondered how Colson still smelled nice after sex, and also how someone so skinny looking could be so heavy. He weakly shoved at Colson’s side. “I love you, but you’re kinda...sticky and heavy.” 

“Same to you,” Colson groaned, rolling to one side. They looked at each other, Colson’s lips curving up into a small smile. “So...I’ll take it you were okay with it, in the end? The whole...picture taking thing? And everything else?” He was still smiling, but there was thinly veiled anxiety behind it. Marshall felt a sudden warmth in his chest, and not because he was turned on this time. 

“You know if I really didn’t like something I could easily fight you, right? Like beat you up.” Colson snorted in disbelief, and Marshall watched the anxious look fade a little. “Don’t believe me? We can arm wrestle. Right now.” The older man tried to push himself up into sitting position but stopped halfway, collapsing back on the bed. “Okay...laying down arm wrestling.” He extended his hand. Colson took it, laughing but looking a bit uncertain again.

“Okay, but I didn’t get too rough at the end there? Like...you’re not too old for this or anything?” 

“Too old-are you kidding me?” Marshall half sat up again, pulling Colson with him. “What do you think, that once you reach the age of 40-” 

“Shut up and come back down here,” Colson yawned, taking none of this bullshit. “We need to snuggle. Now.” 

“Fine,” Marshall sighed, rolling his eyes. Colson rolled his eyes back, before kissing Marshall’s forehead affectionately. He couldn’t wait to use those pictures he’d taken later.


	5. guts over fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marshall notices that Colson has started wearing more feminine clothes, and he has some feelings about it. Not smut or anything, just Marshall going through something and Colson being a good supportive boyfriend.

When Colson first started wearing skirts and dresses, Marshall’s immediate thought was that Colson looked beautiful-almost breathtakingly so. The blonde already looked like a runway model, and adding long swaths of pleated fabric to that tall frame made him even more attractive. Marshall often ended up speechless when his boyfriend came downstairs dressed for a date, wearing a white wrap dress or a silver maxi skirt, all adorned in glimmering jewelry. It was a feast for the eyes, to be sure. Colson seemed so confident too. He walked with an elegance Marshall hadn’t seen before, and laughed at the close-minded people online who made fun of him. The older man was simultaneously in awe, flustered, and proud when it came to Colson’s style choices. But he couldn’t help but notice there was another emotion too, one that was hidden beneath the others. He felt it most when Colson sat too close to him, the fabric of his newest dress draping over Marshall’s leg. Marshall would find himself looking at it. Not at Colson, just at the fabric itself-the softness and the shimmer and the sparkle, if it happened to be glittery. Colson would catch him sometimes, and nudge his shoulder to get his attention, smiling in that charming way of his, and Marshall would feel his stomach turn over, as if he’d missed a step on the stairs. It was nothing, of course. That’s what he told himself. It didn’t mean anything, that he liked looking at Colson’s clothes. They were objectively pretty, that was all. Sometimes, when Colson laid a dress or skirt he was done wearing over the bed while he went to take a shower, and Marshall stood there admiring it, he was definitely only doing that because it was pretty. He always managed to tear his gaze away eventually, and go to bed pretending he hadn’t imagined what the fabric might feel like. In this way, the hidden emotion remained quiet. It rested in the back of the rapper’s mind along with half forgotten grocery list items and song lyrics from the 90’s. But then, in November, Colson was photographed for a magazine.

“Tell me what you think of these,” Colson said one night, tossing some photos onto Marshall’s lap. “I think I look tired in them, but I don’t really wanna reshoot.”

“I’m sure you look fine,” Marshall reassured him, flipping through the pictures. He was right, of course. Colson looked particularly stunning in the white jacket and...skirt? Marshall’s mind felt like it had been paused. His boyfriend was beautiful in the photo, with arms spread out and covered in paint, like some artistic angel. But oddly enough Marshall’s eyes were more drawn to the white, pleated skirt at the bottom of the picture, smeared with paint but still flowy and almost reflective. He swallowed, putting the picture down. It was probably just the glossy sheen of the photo itself creating an illusion.

“You like that one?” Colson was asking, and his voice sounded far away. “Honestly I think I look dead. They kind of got some double chin in that photo, but whatever. The one of me in the white suit obviously has the best lighting…” He stopped talking for a moment and Marshall felt a large hand on the back of his neck. “Are you okay? You’re looking kind of spaced out.”

“Yeah, I’m-” Marshall shook his head. “Can I...ask you something personal?”

“I mean, of course? We’re together, remember? In love and shit.” Colson plopped down on the couch next to him and gave him a fond look that made Marshall’s heart melt a little. “So spill.”

“I...uh, just wanted to know how it feels. To wear dresses and stuff.”

“Oh...it feels...like me I guess?” Colson shrugged, picking at the paint on one of his fingernails. “I’m glad I finally got the courage to do it, you know? And the money, obviously. I had to dress in t-shirts and jeans for so long because I couldn’t afford the clothes I actually wanted.” Marshall nodded awkwardly. He looked down at his current outfit, a pair of sweats and a hoodie. It was comfortable, but not that much different from what he’d worn all his life. He liked wearing this kind of thing, how simple it was, but sometimes…

“Um...I’m gonna go to bed,” Marshall said, standing up a bit too fast. “Thanks for...sharing with me.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Colson’s voice was normal, but his eyebrows were pinched together in the middle, a telltale sign of concern. “If you wanna tell me something-”

“It’s nothing, I’m just tired,” Marshall said hurriedly, backing towards the stairs.

“Okay, I’ll see you up there in an hour then.” Colson said. He didn’t look entirely convinced by Marshall’s excuse, but the brunette didn’t give him much time to ponder it with how quickly he walked away.

“Fuck,” he mumbled as he pushed open the door to their bedroom. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” The light wasn’t on but he didn’t bother trying to find the switch, just made his way through the room with one hand on the wall. The bathroom door frame caught under his fingertips and he went inside, closing the door behind him. _Why do things have to be so complicated?_ he asked himself as he sat down on the cold tiles. The majority of Colson’s fanbase had easily accepted Colson wearing a skirt for a photoshoot. The world in general was at least somewhat okay with men dressing femininely now. And yet here he was, sitting in a dark bathroom at 11 at night, having some kind of crisis. Maybe it was because wearing dresses and skirts as a man just wasn’t an option for him growing up. He would’ve been bullied by all his friends, the whole school even. Hell, he’d been bullied by everyone anyway, even though he’d worn the “right” clothes. Or at least a version of the right clothes. He remembered trying so hard to fit in, digging through racks and piles of used and donated clothing just to find the one t-shirt that might make him look cool. And then he’d go to school, new shirt on, and get beat up, like always. It was a wonder he’d even tried anymore at a certain point. He guessed he had stopped trying, in a way. The whole “slim shady” thing was about not caring what people thought, breaking out of the suffocating bubble he’d felt he was in most of the time. But as soon as he broke out of one bubble it felt like he was engulfed in another one. Right now the bubble was fame and the constant worry of letting his fans down, or allowing hip hop to be disappointed in him. _Would they be disappointed if…_ he didn’t finish the thought, tilting his head back against the wall. His eyes had adjusted to the dark and he could vaguely make out the shape of the expensive light fixture on the ceiling. It was new; something fancy Colson had picked out. In the shadows of the room it seemed to move, and a memory surfaced without his permission. He’d been inside a shop with the same type of chandelier once, a long time ago, when he was a kid. It had been a nice store, somewhere he absolutely couldn’t afford to be shopping. But there he was anyway, walking through the aisles. And then he saw it. A cascade of black silk, flowing all the way to the floor. He’d walked over to touch it, almost mesmerized by the shine of the fabric. It had felt like water in his hands. He’d immediately felt envious of whoever got to wear such a thing. Probably a rich woman with a very straight posture and fine black gloves to match it. He’d been in the middle of admiring the dress’s tiny pearl buttons and sweetheart neckline when he was interrupted by a punch in the shoulder.

“What’s this? A dress? Are you a girl now, Mathers?” Marshall had pulled his hand away from the black silk as if burned.

“What? No, I-”

“We saw you come in here. I bet you’re here every day, hoping to save up enough pennies to buy a dress. You’d look better as a woman anyway.” Laughter echoed around the store, and Marshall remembered being dragged outside and onto the ground, then getting kicked by two pairs of feet. The memory’s sudden violence jolted him back to the present and he practically flew upwards, grabbing onto the sink for balance. He could feel a cold sweat starting on the back of his neck and his eyes and cheeks burned. _You’re so fucked,_ he said to the shadowy reflection of himself in the mirror.

“Babe?” Colson’s voice was followed by light flooding the room. Marshall closed his eyes to block it out but it still stung. “What are you-oh my god, are you okay?” Colson’s voice turned hushed and concerned, and Marshall felt himself being pulled into a hug. He breathed slowly into Colson’s shirt, trying to relax some of the tension in his shoulders. “You’re shaking and you’re white as a ghost,” Colson said, rubbing his back soothingly. “What happened?” Marshall tried to respond but his throat felt like it had closed up on him. He didn’t understand why he was so affected by the memory. It had just seemed so real, like he was reliving it. He could almost feel the dress between his fingers. Quickly, he pulled away from Colson’s embrace, running an unsteady hand through his hair.

“I’m good...just having some weird thoughts,” he said, pushing past his boyfriend to get to the bedroom. “I just need sleep,” he continued, trying to convince himself. “Sleep will help."

“Okay…” Colson said, sounding equally worried and confused. “Just let me know if you need anything. Need to talk, or a glass of water, whatever you want.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Marshall mumbled in reply, biting his lip in regret at how cold he was being. He could usually tell Colson anything but something was stopping him from revealing this. He got under the covers of their king sized bed, pulling the blanket up to his chin. Colson was in the bathroom for a while washing his face, and then he came to bed too, giving Marshall a goodnight kiss that was longer than usual. He muttered tiredly for a few moments, something about how Marshall could wake him up if he needed anything, _anything at all, like seriously, for real,_ and then the older man was left looking at his boyfriend’s peaceful sleeping expression, willing himself to drift off as well.

Two hours later, Marshall realized sleep was not the answer to his problems. Sleep didn’t come at all, and he was left anxiously fidgeting under the covers, wondering why he couldn’t tell Colson what was bothering him. _Maybe because you can’t even admit it to yourself,_ a voice in his head told him.

_Okay fine, I liked looking at a dress when I was younger,_ Marshall thought, defeated.

_And…?_ The voice prompted.

_And I wanted to wear it, kind of._ There was silence, an awkward pause in his thoughts. _...And I still wanna wear stuff like that now sometimes._ His cheeks flushed and his stomach turned unpleasantly at the idea. The pressure behind his eyes was back again, a growing headache for sure. Marshall swallowed heavily. Admitting his problem to himself hadn’t helped anything. He took a deep breath and looked at his boyfriend, still asleep and blissfully unaware of his issues. _Better get it over with,_ he thought. “Colson?” He turned over and nudged the other man. Colson woke up halfway, humming in acknowledgement. “I-I think I wanna dress more like you.” Colson’s eyes opened, large and blue, even in the dark. The blonde rolled onto his side, looking at Marshall intently. He suddenly seemed completely awake.

“What do you mean?”

“Like...I want to…” Marshall faltered under the intensity of Colson’s gaze. He couldn’t get the words out.

“You want to wear pink, maybe?” Colson guessed. “Or skirts and dresses?”

“Yeah. I mean, not all the time, just on occasion, you know?” Colson smiled, small and gentle. Marshall felt long fingers on his hair, brushing over his ear.

“Okay.” Okay? Was it really that easy? _It should be,_ he thought, because there was nothing wrong with dressing how Colson did. But that didn’t change how weird and difficult this was for him.

“I just...feel so bad about it.”

“That’s normal,” Colson said. His thumb was stroking over Marshall’s cheek now and it felt nice. “I did too, at first. And some of the comments I got didn’t help. But dressing how I wanted was worth it, in the end.” Marshall hummed thoughtfully, and for a while they just looked at each other. Moments like this reminded him how far the younger man was ahead of him in certain areas. He was more mature than his boyfriend in a lot of ways, but when it came to stuff like this he felt like he barely knew anything.

“Won’t I disappoint my fans? Or hip hop in general? I mean, I know I’ve worn women’s clothes in music videos before, but this…”

“They’ll accept this too, if they actually like you and care about you,” Colson said with certainty. “And if they don’t, I’ll fight every asshole who’s rude about it, one by one.” Marshall chuckled a bit at that. He could easily imagine his impulsive boyfriend swinging at multiple people at once, trying to knock them out with his skinny (but impressively strong) arms. “See? It’s gonna be okay. If you want, I’ll even help you pick out some new outfits. What kind of things do you want to wear?”

“Black silk,” Marshall said, barely above a whisper. He buried his face in Colson’s chest, hoping the blonde couldn’t guess that he was blushing. “A black silk dress.”

“Black silk it is then,” Colson said, and the smile was evident in his voice. “I know what I’m getting you for Christmas this year.”

“Fine,” Marshall tried to hide his excitement. “But it doesn’t have to be too expensive or anything…”

“Don’t worry, it will be.”


End file.
